Love Unrequited
by DemonsLullaby
Summary: How does Harry feel when the war is Over, and Draco uses him as a toy?


Love Unrequited

Yet, another depressing story. Happiness does not seem to work well with me. But, alas, as Dumbledore got a earwax flavored bean in the first book, I am drawn to the worst of things. Sad, I know. T^T

Enjoy!! My second published work!

Why is it that the world is seen as a plaything? As a worthless piece of trash? Why is it that I am seen in the same light? That I am wasted, just as the resources on this earth? That no one sees the beauty in either of us. That no one cares enough to fix their mistakes, the same mistakes that ruined us both? Why is it that I am seen in the same way as this earth. I am used in the same way as well. Dirtied. Trashed. Used up. Emptied. But why is it that people still take what we do not have? Take. Steal. Use. The same pattern over and over, yet they still do not notice our cries, our pleas. Our begs, telling them to stop. But why is it they do not notice the hurt. The pain. The suffering.

They do not notice I have nothing left to give. I have been sapped of precious life. My dark hair. It hangs limp, shrouding my sunken face. The color has dulled, like a penciled drawing, smudged time after time. This face, no longer perfect. No longer full of emotion. The sunken-in sockets. The angled curves. The skin stretching over the bone. The blank expression. The eyes. No longer are they bright. No longer are they big, full of wonder. No longer a vibrant emerald, but a dull forest green. They are sunken in this face. My body has been misused, no longer filled out. This abused body. The tainted blood.

But why is it that you have stayed unscathed, unmarked by time that has passed? Why has time been so wonderful to you? Your granite eyes, dark, reflecting. Still able to pierce through my very soul. Still able to see my innermost thoughts. You face, still full, as if drawn to every perfect degree. Why? Your body. Still filled out, still perfect, as if you were a statue, carved out of the whitest marble, preserved all these years. Your blond hair, ghostly light, as if touched by the moon. Has it been time? Or has it been something else? Something, you, yourself, have given me to become this way?

Yes, you can see my inner thoughts, but you will never understand as you used to. Always so knowing, but in these past years, now so ignorant. It is only when the focus on me. Why is this? But every time, they lust for a hunger, for a longing. That every time you have this look, it seems that I am the only one that can satiate this longing? Why is it that your dark eyes, so beautiful, no longer hold any love for me? Why is this?

But why is it that I still search for your love, even when I know it will not be held there? Why am I so unwilling to accept that I am merely a toy, played with only when needed, but never kept close to your heart? Why is it that there is no silver lining? No light at the end of this lonely tunnel? No prince to come save me, no white horse to ride away on? No sunset at the end of the day to gaze upon? How many times will I have to be let down before I realize none of this exists? That my love for you will never be returned?

You grab my hand. Harder than needed. As I feared, I am nothing to you anymore. You could not possibly hold onto any love for me hidden in the depths of you soul. Your hand motions to the bedroom door. Again. You are so crude. I am yet another puppet to play in your show. Another plaything once again. Am I still an old newspaper, crumpled and thrown to the fire? I am just another toy, but I am used to taking your shit, your frustration, just as the earth takes ours.

Am I really this meaningless to you? Do you really not care? You shake your head, but you offer no proof to chase this fear from my mind. You know all, but you know nothing. You disagree? You hair shines in the light as you shake your head. Show me that this is not true. Show me I really mean something to you, to this earth. You just stand there. No proof? No more lies to feed me? It does not mater, this is not a surprise to me anymore, but deep inside, the last bit of my blackened heart shatters like glass.

How is it that you can lie to my face, and feel no remorse? No sorrow. Not even hatred. How can you look upon me and think I like living like this? What makes you think I do not grow tired of this rehearsed act? Than I do not long to leave? I can tell you why. You know I will not leave. You know I can have nothing outside of this one-sided love.

But why do you say I am worthwhile, while we both know I am not? I know I am worth nothing. I hate living in this lie. Lies. That is all that surrounds me. But why is it that I keep living this life for you? I keep living the lies, I keep believing I will see a sliver of love pass through those cold eyes. But I stop to think. Why is it so hard to believe I can not live without this man? This man, whom I have loved, yet never received love in return?

Why is it so easy to love you like this, but so difficult for you to love me? Why is it so hard for me to cry? Why is it so difficult to realize that I need you, but you don't need me? How is it that the tunnel consumes me, but it does nothing to you? Why is it that no one calls out to save me, to find me in this darkness that has fallen? Why is it that no one wants to find the real me, to try to love me, for me? To not act as if I am some toy to be forgotten in a few years?

Why is it that no one wants to know me, but I want everyone to see?

Will no one listen to my pleas?

I start to cry….

But why does no one see?


End file.
